


Deal or No Deal?

by aceofkpop



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Androgyny, Drabble, Fluff, Multi, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:26:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2633450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofkpop/pseuds/aceofkpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You summon Crowley for a solution to your pain but are given his fix instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deal or No Deal?

There was not an ounce of regret that chased the adrenaline in your veins. The powder, color of dried blood, dropped into the mixture you had placed in the center of the candles. It was nothing compared to the red of your blood as it dripped from your palm into the concoction. All that was left was to utter the buried words and light the match.  


_“Et ad congregandum….Eos corum me.”_  


The match burned to life and faded just as quickly after it left your fingers. Now it was merely a game of waiting. You didn't want to deal with some slimy, waste-of-time crossroads demon. No, you were going straight to the top. To the king.  


“Hello darling. How can I be of service?”  


You spin around in time to catch the building grin on the man’s face. You wonder; what’s so amusing here? That you would call upon him? That even though every fiber of your being recoils from what he represents, you still need his help? As the thoughts spin around your head you wonder if you weren't outright crazy to have summoned the King of Hell.  


“Tick tock goes the clock, lovely. As I’m sure you’re aware, I am an important man, and I've more pressing matters to attend to than our staring competition.”  


“I want to make a deal.” It’s all you can figure out to say at this point.  


“Really? And here I thought you just wanted to play a round of checkers.”  


Yeah, you should really call the whole thing off already. He’s a cheeky son of a witch and do you really want to sell your soul off? Your vision blurs suddenly and you’re thrust into yesterday’s reality. They shoved you, sneered at you, pulled your hair. The names they threw at you didn't matter, they were just words, they didn't apply to you. Sure, that’s what helps get you through the attack...But the names and insults haunt you when you lay in bed, when you’re left alone with your thoughts for even a moment. Maybe they’re right. Maybe you are as worthless as you feel…  


“Still in there darling?”  


No. They were wrong. You would prove to them just how wrong they were. And the king here was going to help you do it.  


“I want to be perfect...I want everyone to find me beautiful...I don’t want to have any flaws…”  


He watches you for a moment, and somehow you swear the smugness in his smirk has been toned down. Or maybe your eyes had just decided they were tired of the look he’d been giving so instead they’d softened it.  


“Listen dear, I can’t do that.”  


Suddenly his accent is driving you wild, and not in a pleasant way at all. What the hell was he trying to say?  


“You can’t? Or you won’t?”  


“A little bit of both.”  


Flames of anger ravage your stomach, spreading up your chest to consume your heart. This was all just a game to him, wasn't it? Your feelings, your pain and anguish, he eats it up for kicks. But what can you do to him? You can’t kill him, can’t even force him back to hell if he doesn't want to go. There’s no way for you to win in this situation.  


“Allow me to explain darling. I _can’t_ make you perfect because you already are. I _won’t_ change anything about you because then I wouldn't like you as much, so that’s no fun for me.”  


You’re boiling now. How dare he show up and make a joke out of you? Your face heats up until you think you’re going to burn alive. Tears cause your eyes to sting and you look away from Crowley while trying to bite the tremble out of your lips. Your feet slide across the floor as you turn to go, feeling much too heavy to bother lifting up to take an actual step. Instead of being allowed to continue for the door, you come face to face with black fabric. A hand gently cups the back of your head and presses you forward until you’re nestled against his muscled chest.  


You’re overwhelmed. Up is down and right is sideways. You want to cry, but you can’t because of his warmth. Should you struggle? Probably, yeah, but you’re efficiently trapped. There’s a pressure at the base of your skull now, a tugging. You lift your face to look up at him, only to find your lips captured by his. For a moment your heart is still, you become a statue. Every detail is too sharp and yet too hazy. His scent is spicy, smoky and altogether intoxicating- like burning cinnamon and pine. His taste is pure sin, and how that can even happen is beyond you. Even as you think it your subconscious is cringing and rolling its eyes.  


You have to breathe, and so the kiss slows to a messy halt. You stare up into rich brown eyes and wonder just what in the hell happened. What have you brought upon yourself, and what does it exactly mean? You’re not sure, but for the first time in a long while, the uncertainty of your position is not solely unnerving. It’s thrilling.

**Author's Note:**

> ****Author’s Note****  
> I know I saw something related to this on Instagram, but I think the original idea came from the ether of Tumblr.  
> Uhm, I've never written something from the second-person perspective before so don’t judge me.  
> Anyway, I had fun writing this so yeah c:


End file.
